The Letters 3
by HannaHeyes
Summary: Two young boys write their annual letters to Santa, but one is starting to have doubts.


_**December, 1861**_

Dear "Mister Claus", (if that is indeed your REAL name)

Are you real? I'm not saying I don't believe in you, but could you sign the paper I leave with the cookies to make me believe you more? Or better yet, leave a picture of yourself. I know you must have one somewhere you can spare to insure a young boy's belief in you stays alive.

I mean, if you think about it, you DO defy logic beyond all reason. I turned ten this year and I started trying to figure out how you get to everybody's house in ONE night and have time to eat at each place. And then there's the stops you have to make at the outhouse. There's just no possible way I can see that you can do it.

Plus, there's the fruit incident I mentioned last year. I've noticed, on more than one occasion, that little things from the kitchen seem to end up in my stocking. Now, I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe, just MAYBE, you're just a made up story Ma and Pa tell me so I'll be good and THEY'RE the ones getting my presents. Otherwise, WHY would I keep getting more clothes than anything else? It can't be my behavior because I'm the perfect example of what a good boy is. I've always told you the reasons behind some of my questionable actions.

Now, on the off chance that I'm actually wrong for once and you DO exist, let's get down to business. There's been some...things...happen that look bad, but when I give the explanation for them, you'll see that my actions were warranted.

Alright, I did, on a couple of occasions, purposely scare the teacher...BUT...she had scared all of us FIRST by talking about the war that started this year. The little kids don't need to hear about that. So, yes, I walked in one morning, looked at our teacher, and with a serious look, said, "Good morning. I see my assassins have failed," and then sat down like normal while I stared at her. Well, you can count that one off because she told Ma, Ma told Pa, and Pa told me next time I pretend to threaten someone, he'd take me to talk to the sheriff to find out what happens when people do that. So that shouldn't count against me.

Now the second time, I was provoked by somebody so this incident is HIS fault, NOT mine. Henry bet me three pieces of candy that I couldn't get fireworks to go off in the teacher's desk drawer at exactly the time class started. I had to prove to him that I could. Matter of fact, you should be proud of how I did it. It WAS pretty ingenious. In case you've forgotten, let me tell you how I did it.

I borrowed one of Ma's pie pans, some matches, one of Pa's pocket knives, a bit of string from Ma's sewing stuff, a couple of my cousin Jed's brothers' fireworks, and got to the schoolhouse a little early that day. The window is easily opened with a small knife...or so I'd been told...

Once inside, I cut a little piece of string, set it on fire, and timed it to see how fast it burned. Then I measured how much string I needed and tied one end to the fireworks. And, would you believe my luck?! The desk drawer had been left unlocked! So I put the pie pan in there, laid the fireworks with the string curled up in it, and five minutes before it was time for the teacher to open the schoolhouse, lit the other end of the long string, closed the drawer, and climbed back out the window and went around to the front like I'd been there the whole time.

One second after class started, BOOM! I thought the teacher was going to jump right out of her clothes! I looked at Henry and grinned and at lunchtime, I collected my rightfully earned three pieces of candy. So, that doesn't count because I was proving a point. Henry had to know I could do it.

And I'm sorry I told Jed one day when he was feeling down that, "When life hands you lemons, ...you throw them at the people causing your problems." How was I supposed to know he'd take that literally and go on a lemon shooting spree at his brothers with a bunch of lemons Aunt Emma was saving to make lemonade with? He's a pretty good shot with that slingshot of his too, so he probably made a hit with every lemon.

Now, I miiight have convinced Lucy that rabbits can live in trees because their long ears enable them to fly. And she miiiight have went home and stuck her pet rabbit up in the top of the tree because she wanted to see it fly but it fell down and knocked her Ma out. Notice I said this 'might' have happened, which means that it might 'not' have too. Besides, I shouldn't be responsible for somebody doing something just because I told them an innocent story.

So, since it's obvious that I'm not on the naughty list because these things all were done with childhood innocence and have already been rectified, to stay in accordance with Christmas tradition, I formally request that these items be left under the tree: lots of money, lots of candy (that doesn't come from Ma's kitchen, and remember, I'll know), a new hat (make it a black one), and some age appropriate toys. I DO NOT need any more clothes. The ones I got are fine. So what if they're a little stained. If I get new ones, they'll just end up with stains too so there's really no reason for it.

Well, Ma is yelling at me to go to bed. Guess she seen my candle lit. Next time, I'll have to put something in front of it to hide the light. By the way, Ma could use a new corset. I was using hers yesterday to see if it would fit Jed's dog. Don't worry though, I put it back. She just might want a new one if she knew what her's had been dragged through.

Your sincerely, well-meaning friend, (or is it 'son'? I'm still thinking on that.)

Hannibal Heyes

* * *

Dear Mister Santa Claus,

Hi. This is Jed Curry. Remember, the one that wanted a shootin' iron last year? Well, I didn't get it. Did you forget or what? The other stuff was pretty good, but nothin' a man could shoot with. There's critters that need dealin' with around here.

Han reminded me AGAIN this year that I should explain to you anythin' that might be counted agin me, so, there's only one thing I can think of. There's this boy named James that sits in front of me in school and he's always tryin' to give me a hard time. Well, he went to sit down one day, and his chair moved right out from under him. He hit the floor and everybody laughed. Now, my boot was restin' on the chair at the time, but that's all I'm sayin'.

Except for this: I best be gettin' a shootin' iron this year or there WILL be consequences. (I learnt that big word from Han. Well, actually, I learnt it when I heard Han's Pa on to him over somethin' he said he was innocent of.)

Now, there was only two cookies left and I needed 'em and my sister's gingerbread made us all throw up, so I just left a potatoe under the tree. You can bake it when you get home.

Your friend, (as of now),

Jed


End file.
